Stories and tales I have picked up over the years,of farming in the Midlands of the United Kingdom,the house farm, and the village and all the characters that lived and worked here when I was growing up.

Monday, 28 April 2014

These blogs and poems are nearly all in these books, they have been written from sixty years of working experience on the farm. Just put in the title 'The Longest Furrow' and the authors name into Amazon UK and you can look in and read some pages before you purchase them

Saturday, 26 April 2014

I must point out here that this poem The Elusive Cupwas the very first one that I ever wrote, some eight years ago, all the writing of the books and blogs and all the poems on this forum pages have been written since them.

It's all brought on, with the disappointing
outcome of the Stafford ploughing match 16 September 2006, Using
the E27N and Elite trailer plough for the first time.

The Elusive Cup

Off to the ploughing
match with great intent

Good weather helps
but the land is wet

Off down the field on
the first run

Back up the second
the twists begun.

Tipping in the third
as though no skims

Blocking up the
plough and the trouble begins

Coming up the fourth won’t
bury the stubble

Land wheel slipping
and we’re in trouble.

Off up the side of
the neighbouring plot

Tape measure out to
see what we’ve got

To start the cast it
must be parallel

Or the finish, odd
sized will give you hell.

Even furrows with
good in’s and outs

Firm for a seed bed
well turned over each bout

No hand work or
gardening is ever allowed

But it happens quite
often when the judge turns around

To measure the land
each bout is a must

As narrow it gets
down to three or bust

The penultimate run
is always shallow

It’s to hold the
plough firm as it turns its last furrow

Everyone’s an expert
who watches your last run

But get in the seat
to feel how it’s done

They block your eye
line at the end of the stint

All standing astride,
its all wavering and bent

Everyone says we must
not blame the tools

Not everyone there, that
we can call fools

Experience shows by
the polished plough
Who puts it away with a tinge of rust now

Never again, and the
thought that it’s rotten

When the next one
comes along and you've forgotten

Try once more for
that elusive red card and cup

The knees will go
weak, when you’re eventually called up.

Owd Fred

You always get plenty of advice at these ploughing matches there was upwards of 40 competitors

You're all spoiled these days what with all the modern equipment, this old Fordson E27N does not even have diff lock, and with a trailer plough, you have to wind the handles like fury to shallow the plough to keep moving or trip it to lift it out and that will only lift with forwards movement. Neither of these actions help very much when your competing at a ploughing match

Sunday, 20 April 2014

Reared back up in jerky chair, feet back on the floor,
Blood runs back into me toes, me bulging eyes back in once more.
This is a copy of a letter/email to a friend of mine down the road who is recovering at home from a serious operation.

Dear John,
As you may have gathered, we haven't got much on at the moment, and a bit of time to bgguer about writing. As you must know when I had my op on my knees they for some mysterious reason they insisted I see a dentist, somatt ta do with a rotten tooth could make the metal in the joint reject. But John you must have been told this for what op's you've been throooo.
Before my op, I had never in me life sat in a dentist chair, or had anyone fiddle with me teeth, so I booked in at Castlefields Surgery dentist, pay a monthly standing order ca-chinnnnnnng, (their cash till) , and pay them a visit every six months. I have been there now twenty times in the last ten years and still they have done nothing other than scrape and polish. I have cleaned (brushed is what they call it) my teeth once before each visit on the morning of the visit (Nothing to be proud of according to Eileen, but then I call it sour grapes as she cleans her teeth two time a day every day and almost always has to have something done ca---chinnnnnnnng)
So I am getting to know my dentist quite well, for they know they only have to count them and poke round them, and find time to fill in the ten minuet slot allotted to me. She asked me (the dentist), as I think they are asking every customer, what is my experience or my views while in the dentists. (She will wish she hadn't). However when Eileen has to go back next week for TREATMENT on her teeth ca-chinnnnnnnng, I will send the following.

Are you Sitting Comfortably

( in the dentist chair with a cup of what looks like weak ribena ta rinse ya mouth)

Sit looking through dark goggles, up into a light,

Shining from a wobbly arm, just a tad off white,

Hovering just above ya head, no sun tan will you get,

Just a beam of light to shine, think it’s my sunset.

A two inch square to tissue, n’ a cup weak bilberry juice,

Open up me north and south, now there’s no excuse,

They always seem to work from behind, where you cannot see,

And speak in muffled tones aloud, casual and carefree.

The high-tech chair jumps down a step, head below me feet,

A clink of tools are gathered up, dentist adjusts her seat

Forelocked head of curls appear, eyes behind a shield,

A tool gripped in big knuckled fingers, now begin to wield.

A rear view mirror push down me throat, see my teeth all round,

Couple of inches further down, me tonsils will be crowned,

Only counting what I’ve got, choking on me tongue,

Call themselves a dentist, hope they won’t take long.

A hook appears before me eyes, gripped tight in dentist’s fist,

“Open wide and move ya tongue, see what’s on my checklist”,

Hoover pipe switched on too high, clean me mouth outright,

Wunder what’s found in the bag, when they clean it out at night?

The foundation of each tooth is cleaned, n’ fertilize the roots,

With gritty paste they brush right in, just like cleaning boots,

Reared back up in jerky chair, feet back on the floor,

Blood runs back into me toes, me bulging eyes back in once more.

They’ve no idea what we go through, the trauma and the stress,

Quaking in our shoes they ask, have we got your right address,

Your medication up to date, just got to tick the box,

N’ sign it at the bottom, “Oh I see you’ve had small pox”.

New appointment six months time, ring you day before,

Make sure were live and kickin, and brushed me teeth once more,

Got to have them checked agen, keep the rot at bay,

A healthy head of teeth’s the aim, is what I should portray.

Owd Fred

I think I should be charging them for ten minuets of entertainment and filling ten minutes of their day, there aint much wear and tare on their equipment when I go.
When you hear about the horror stories of people's visits to the dentist, it crosses my mind as what could happen if you really upset your dentist and what revenge they could inflict. So John I closed my eyes and this is what I envisaged.

I'd Hate to Upset my Dentist

I'd hate to upset my dentist, the revenge they could inflict,

You cannot see their face at all, but their eyes you can depict,

A knee upon my chest to hold, me down while they inject,

Now I know what mole grips are, from my tool box nicked,

To grip and pull and twist with glee, a sound tooth they would eject,

With pain and blood and sweat and tears, I know that I've been tricked,

Tuesday, 15 April 2014

Farm Sale

No I am not having a farm sale here, but a couple of years ago a
neighbouring farm sold up and I sent quite a few items up to be sold back then.
Now another neighbour is having a dispersal sale and again I am contributing
some more of my dead stock, to be sold at his sale this April 11th .
(2014).

I have been selling off items of machinery privately over the last
three years as and when a buyer came up, but you get down to the last few thing
that could still be worth selling for further use. I have been scrapping all
that what I call "useful reusable metal", you know, the sort of metal
that you can make or mend stuff with, but it’s got to go at some point in time.

Everything is on a priority list, and I keep gleaning
through my workshop scrap heap, some of my tools are the old Whitworth and AF
spanners, but I fear they are getting frightfully close to going to the
crusher.

Thursday, 10 April 2014

We had a fox that's crafty, and the hunt they could not catch,

This went on for couple of seasons, no other fox to match,
Gave them the slip every time, along the brook he walked,
Then back to Moor Covert wood, where he put up and stalked.

Over the years you get to know the wildlife on your own "patch" so to speak, the rabbits at one time, there was literally thousands about, with grass fields along side the woods bare of grass for a hundred yards out. And its no good growing kale or mangels anywhere near a rabbit warren, or try to grow oats or wheat unless they were a field or so away. Then Myxomatosis hit the rabbit population and brought then almost to zero.
Pheasants were not too a plenty, as they relied on what they hatched naturally. There was two older men who took the role of game keeper's, and they always kept the Magpies in check as they would take eggs and young poults, some times trapping them and often shooting them, and there did not seem to be many birds of prey about either.
There were never many Badgers about in them days, I've no doubt they would have been kept to reasonable numbers by the keepers.
Foxes seemed to be in good numbers with an earth in most of the larger woods, and an artificial earth in one of our smaller woods, this was always kept open when they were hunting when the natural earths were stopped.
At one time ( it was in the 1960's )there was a crafty fox that dodged the hunt for two or three seasons, he was put up from the Moor Covert wood, his wood, adjoining our fields. This was always the first to be drawn as it was near the railway line and foxes were encouraged to chase westerly direction into the heart of the estate land.
From a vantage point in the village church yard, you could see the top end of this wood, and often see from the distance when the fox had been flushed out, chasing across a field then through a small wood and on across two more fields. By the time all the hounds had started hollering and picking up the scent, the fox was a couple of fields in front of them and the hunt followers on horse back a fields distance behind the hounds.
After a half mile chase, this one fox always turned and headed for the back of the village and paddled along the shallow brook for quite a way then into the house back gardens. From there he turned into a direct route back to his own wood, this took him through the back of Church Farm where I farmed at that time, often going up the stack yard, but more than once came through the farm yard through the cattle and past me while feeding stock.
From there he went through the Church yard and along within twenty or thirty feet of the spectators who witnessed just what he was doing, then another quarter mile back to the Moor Covert.
The hounds lost the scent every time at the brook, and the huntsman was reluctant to let the hounds into the well cultivated gardens to try to pick up the scent again. After five minuets milling about the hunt gave up and went on to draw another wood.
On his outwards run the fox was lobbing along fairly quickly, but on his return run when the hollering hounds went quiet, the fox was doing little more than a slow trot. He would have not run more than a mile each time out.
This was repeated about three times each season, and for more than two seasons, it was thought he must have died of old age, or caught by the hounds inside his own wood, too slow to get away from them.
It got that spectators would talk to the fox, as he passed by them, and a good group go up there especially to see this old fox in action
Hunting has now been banned and no more meets on the village green, it was not too bad a mess on the turf fields where they chased when there were only ten or twenty horses, but towards the end when there was a danger of the hunting ban, it got up to ward a hundred followers. The hunt would encourage most of these to follow lanes and tracks, so as to minimise the damage.
While it was a good spectacle looking from the distance, what with the three or four red jackets and others meticulously turned out in black jackets and light coloured jodhpurs, and the horses highly groomed and newly shod, a greater proportion of then latterly had no idea of how to behave in respecting gates and crops. So thankfully the ban came about, balking the hooray Henry's and the hooray Henrietta's from gathering in huge numbers to parade the fields and tracks. I was always for the hunt and supported them over the years until the number of followers suddenly went up.

We Had A Crafty Fox

We had a fox that's crafty, and the hunt they could not catch,

This went on for couple of seasons, no other fox to match,

Gave them the slip every time, along the brook he walked,

Then back to Moor Covert wood, where he put up and stalked.

They block the earths the night before, keep fox out on the top,

Then put the hound in at far end, and draw the wood none stop,

Out pops this crafty fox, cross the field through Ash Pit wood,

On again across some fields, the hounds pick up the cent its good.

Hounds a hollering two fields back, can see from Church Yard hedge,

Fox he disappeared across the back lane, for the brook I pledge,

Walked down stream to the gardens, turning back towards the wood,

Heading up the Church Yard, along by where hunt spectators stood.

Not in any hurry now, trotting back from where he came,

The hounds have stopped a hollering, and lost the cent again,

Happened every time he's put up, he knew a trick or two,

This crafty fox he must have died, of old age, the hunt he did outdo.

Owd Fred

In fresh snow, of which we don't have very often or for very long, it's always interesting to see the foot prints of hungry wildlife, and where they are going almost invariably looking for food.
Foot print of people, the size of their feet, and how many, and where did they go. It's the same with vehicles with different size tyres and should they really be up there.
The prints in mud which we seem to have for a good proportion of the year, you notice if someone else as been up the lane since you went last, any fresh cattle foot prints, and which way did they go, and are they my cattle that have escaped. Without knowing you have become a tracker

Tracks Across Fields

Tracks across the fields, and tracks off down the lanes,

In the snow in the mud, fresh tracks still it rains,

Paws n' feet n' hooves n' boots, wheels with grippe tyres,

Big and small, heavy and light, not long then they expire.

Every print has a tale to tell, on who has crossed your path,

See the direction that they went, and if they're causing wrath,

Follow to see where they go, and if they came back that way,

Intruders can see, up to no good, or if they're out to play.

All the prints tell a tale, the pattern they leave behind,

The claws on paws and the gait of the stride aligned,

There's webbed feet and long toes, belong to who knows,

And there's birds that land, and take off like the crows.

There's cows and there's calves, and horses with shoes,

See how many have passed, that way from the clues,

Tyres leave prints be it bikes or cars, tractors and all,

Speeding and skidding, or getting stuck when they stall.

You can read every where, who's has been up that way,

Prints and tracks tell a tale all and every day,

You may be alone, but someone's been up there,

A crossing of tracks, in the lane be aware.

Owd Fred

The English country gentleman galloping after a fox- -the unspeakable in full pursuit of the uneatable.
Oscar Wilde (1854-1900)

Well it did happen about 9pm one evening, about two years on from when I had the chair, we had a power cut, and this is the saga of what happened.

The
Great escape “Getting out of Me Chair”

I
was stranded. The misses was out of earshot, and it was too dangerous for her
to wander about in the dark and come down stairs.

Well
it happened, it was going to happen sometime, and it happen the other night,
and we had a power cut. Sitting comfortable as you do in the evening watching
TV, we had just had a cup of tea at supper time and the misses had gone up to
bed, I was half an hour behind her but just before my program had finished the
electric went off.

As
you may know the family bought me a new chair for my 70th
and I was well flat out on it, feet well up and head up just enough to see the
TV, and as I said the chair is operated from the plug on electric, so I was
stranded. The misses was out of earshot and was too dangerous for her to wander
about in the dark and come down stairs as well, so as described in my thoughts
about this situation where I warned myself about a power cut. (see the verse above) Having sat
for five minutes thinking it might come on again shortly, it did not happen, so I was like a
tortoise on its back.

It’s a recliner chair, the back
goes down almost flat and it lifts ya feet up level and its operated with an
electric controller off the mains.I started
swinging my legs up in the air, and eventually managed to roll out of the
chair over the arm rest, landing on my "tin" knees on all four in the
middle of the carpet. This was the safest way to move about to the door when I
clawed my way up the door post, felt my way along the hallway to the office
where I knew where I had got a windup modern torch. All this took best part of
fifteen minutes and went up to check her indoors was Okay.

We
both sat in the dark on the bed discussing the programs we had respectively
been watching and sat laughing about my "great escape". However
the power was restored after about an hour and half and I went down to
"drive" my chair back into its parking position, ready for my next
knap after lunch tomorrow.

On
reflection if I had been patient I could have stayed in the chair until it came
back on, but at that time of night I also have the need to "water me
hoss" so I demonstrated to myself how agile I was, and just wonder how it
will pan out in say twenty years’ time when I'm "OLD".

Saturday, 5 April 2014

It makes you wonder as to what the world will look like in another lifetime's distance ahead. Most jobs about the farm were done by hand in the 1940's, tractors were just coming in.
Milking machines just starting to get about, father was the first to have one in our district, he broke his arm and could not milk by hand for a few weeks. Loose housing of milking cows and milking parlours 1960's followed by the invention of cubicles.
Fertilizer in paper lined hessian sacks, then the plastic bags came in, now in bulk or large half ton bags.
Where will it all go by say 2060 and beyond.

As you may appreciate, this is written from experience.
You get much better at jobs the more practice you have, so while it may look a bit slapdash, it can mean the jobs done before the weather breaks.
Time and tide wait for no man, or so the saying goes, and if ya doing sommat while waiting for the breakdown man, ya may as well do it ya sen.

Wednesday, 2 April 2014

Yes om gettin on a bit, just about the same age as PW, the regulars will know him, I may have exaggerated some of the verses below some what, but there's no hiding the thin grey hair the extending waist line, the glasses and the not quite so brisk walking. Oh yes we have got a dinge in the back bumper of the car, I backed it into the tractor hedge cutter leg.